Читать книгу The Contract - Anto Krajina - Страница 7

Vivien very much enjoyed the rehearsal of the interview and the long discussion she had with Mr Corner three days earlier. The entire rehearsal was recorded. It was the first time that she had spoken to an audience. It was an invisible audience, she knew, however it was not any audience, not just a group of people – it was the greatest audience possible. The audience she was speaking to was eagerly waiting to see her face and to hear her moving story from her personally, to suffer with her and to rejoice with her. She knew that she would not be able to see millions of wide-open eyes of the young people of her age, millions of eyes filled with the tears of millions of mothers and grandmothers, and millions of simply curious people who had decided to stay at home that evening to watch the interview with her on TV, because her experience was unique, and her courage, her strength and her endurance were unprecedented.

She knew that her interview was the beginning of that which she had dreamt of since her parents got divorced. She was very small when that happened, a little girl, plump, intelligent, capable of learning even the most difficult things, however, without any wish to learn anything. She hated her parents, she hated her teachers and she hated her schoolmates. All the time at home, at school, on her way home and on her way to school she was surrounded by people alien to her. She was always alone, alone in a big city full of people who didn’t show any interest in her whatsoever, just as she didn’t show any interest in them.

Since then several years had passed and now she was grown up. She had managed something that nobody could believe. Everything looked like an invented story. She, however, knew very well that her story had not been invented. She knew that she had suffered, that she had worked on herself, on her character and on her personality. Now she was strong and firm; she knew that she was ready to start what she had suffered so much for, and for what she was ready to suffer even more, much more if necessary. The major part of her story, practically everything, had so far run according to the plan she had made at the very beginning. Of course, lots of unexpected things had also happened; however, even they had been somehow included in the general plan she had created in her mind.

Now she had had five pleasant weeks without being disturbed by anybody and she was feeling fine.

Professor Frederic had visited her regularly, at least twice daily. Each time before he came to see her he took off his monocle and put it in the breast pocket of his shirt. Each time he had a long conversation with her. It was from him she had heard for the first time that she was very beautiful. Each time he told her that he held her hands gently in his and looked straight into her eyes. Each time he told her that, he admired her strength and her resoluteness, but above all her smile. She liked everything he said to her. And how generous he was! Each time he came he had a little surprise for her. Once it was an enormous apple – it was delicious. Another time it was a tiny box of chocolate – never before had she tasted anything similar. Another time again it was a little basket with exceptionally tasty Muscat grapes.

One day he brought her, besides some delicious sweets, a few poems written by him. He said the poems were his first literary attempts but he had never thought of publishing them. There were five or six poems each written on a separate clean sheet and on each sheet were printed his full name, his academic title and his position at the University. Each poem had fourteen lines. Vivien was delighted. She almost screamed for joy. She pressed his hands to thank him, and he pressed hers. She found it very pleasant that his hands completely engulfed hers. She had the impression that his face suddenly became much redder than it usually was.

As soon as Professor Frederic had left and the door behind him was locked, Vivien realised what an enormous difference it was between being a prisoner in that cellar where she had to do only with the kidnapper himself, and being free in a large bright room where she had to do with somebody so nice and so generous, and who even wrote poems. She herself had always wished to write poetry, however she didn’t know how to start. Now she had met someone who was still at the very beginning of writing poetry and she was eager to see what such a start could be like.

She made herself comfortable in the bed, took the first sheet and began to read. She read slowly, line by line. After she had finished it she had to take a short break. The content of the poem made her stop. She couldn’t help thinking that she had read something similar when she was imprisoned in her kidnapper’s cellar. Her kidnapper used to bring her regularly all sorts of books from the library and encouraged her to read.

In the poem the poet was addressing someone, probably a woman, asking himself if it were appropriate to compare her with a summer day and immediately gave the answer that such a comparison couldn’t hold, because the woman he was addressing was more lovely and more temperate.

She read all five or six other poems by Professor Frederic that he personally had brought to her. And all others appeared somehow not quite unknown to her. However, after some time of trying to explain to herself her peculiar déjà-vu feeling she gave up and concluded that she must have mixed up certain things, because Professor Frederic personally said that the poems were his first literary attempts, and obviously they were not published yet, otherwise he would have given her a copy of his book.

She didn’t entirely understand the language of the poems though, and yet she had the impression that Professor Frederic’s poems were of a particular beauty.

Vivien had just finished her third or even fourth reading of the poems and put the sheets on the bedside table when there was a knock on the door and in the same moment Professor Frederic entered the room.

“Hallo, hallo,” he said as if he hadn’t seen her for quite some time, although he had left the room only half an hour before. He was in full swing, and she had the impression that he was in a hurry. His voice was friendly as usual. He came closer and put a plate on the table beside the bed. There were two beautiful fresh figs on the plate.

“Taste them,” he said, ‘they are excellent, I suppose they come from one of the Mediterranean countries.”

“Delicious’, she said after she had tasted one.

“Fine then, go ahead. After lunch I’ll come and fetch you. I suppose the interview won’t last longer than half an hour. You know all the questions and all the answers, don’t you?”

“Well, I hope so,” she answered with a smile. Professor Frederic smiled, too. He pressed her hand gently for a second and left the room. In the doorway he waved to her, sent her another smile and locked the door.